Lessons

When I was little, we weren't what you would call rich. Of course, I was oblivious to my parent's bank account since I always had beans to eat, hand-me-downs to wear and presents at Christmas. We lived outside of Philadelphia, near Widner University. What I did know is that we lived on the right side of the tracks. On the other side, anything could happen and I was not allowed to go over there.

This is the part of the story that you think I will tell you about a time I trekked to other side of the tracks. You're wrong. I'm going to tell you how I learned to be fearless when I did eventually cross the tracks. I'm going to tell you how it happened that I was confident at my first job interview. I'm going to tell you how it came to be that I expected boys to be nice to me. I'm going to tell you how I learned to handle myself. This is about my Dad.
***
"When you're in the city, you don't look anyone in the eye. You just look like you know where you're going and nobody will bother you." We are in Philadelphia, walking for hours. We will soon stop for something to eat. My legs work double-time to keep up with him and I hold his hand when we cross the street. I think this sounds a little paranoid, but I obey because that's what you do when you're ten and your Dad tells you something. You take it in, you swear by it.
***
"I bet your name is Susan." My Dad disarms the cashier as he handed over a check for the groceries. He does this at every check out counter.

"It is." The cashier smiles as she touches nametag.

"Well, you have a nice day, Susan." He smiles, hands a bag to me and we leave the store. He slips me a Little Debbie when we get in the car. I eat it slow enough to savor every bit and fast enough so that it is history by the time we get home. My Dad never explained his friendly banter with every check out person we came across, but he didn't have to. It said this to me: you treat service people well.
***
"Jenny, you're Dad's here," I am at a friends house and we are playing in her bedroom. As I decsend the stairs I see that I am in trouble.

"We had no idea where you were. Now come on." My Dad does not crack a smile, though in retrospect I'm sure he was thrilled to see me alive. I'm silent as I struggle into my jacket, and I peer closer to get a view of the VCR clock that tops the television.

"Don't look at that." He barks, which makes me look down at the television screen. Two people are making out. I prudently avert my eyes and follow him home.

Why do I remember this moment so clearly? I was in trouble. I had lost track of time and ended up a block away at my friend's house. I remember it because my parents remembered me. I was important enough to search for. I was important enough to be scared for.
***
That is how I came to understand myself. And when you know yourself, you can be whomever you want. You can ask, expect, give and take. My Dad taught me about me. He showed me my value in this world.